


The Thing Under the Stairs

by JQ (musicmillennia)



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Body Horror, Cannibalism, Dark, Disturbing Fluff, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, disturbing imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 07:24:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6146014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicmillennia/pseuds/JQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“My mother, she killed me,<br/>My father, he ate me,<br/>My sister Marlene,<br/>Gathered all my bones,<br/>Tied them in a silken scarf,<br/>Laid them beneath the juniper tree,<br/>Tweet, tweet, what a beautiful bird am I.”<br/>(Jacob Grimm)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Thing Under the Stairs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [languageismymistress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/languageismymistress/gifts).



> [JQ: "ooo I just got an image of Worse!Barry"  
> "thank you Scarlet"  
> Scarlet: "FFS"]
> 
> I'm not going to Janus this, do a non-linear narrative or anything. This one's gonna be more forthcoming, with a more or less linear narrative. Honestly I'm too tired to do otherwise. Also, I don't know if this should be M. I might lower it later. Let me know what you think about that.
> 
> WARNING: READ THE TAGS BEFORE PROCEEDING

At two in the morning, the house is dark. Nothing but the street lamps and flashing lightning outside cast shadows on the furniture and brick-a-brack. This house shows signs of being well lived-in: countless photos, trinkets, mussed blankets and dishes litter its rooms. Including the basement, there are three floors, all of which have such traces of life.

At two in the morning, the house's living room staircase starts to talk. Not intelligible words, mind you—just scratching. Shh, listen closely; sometimes the thunder drowns it.

_Scri-sriiitch. Scri-scriiitch._

We aren't the only ones who hear it, of course. At two in the morning, the house's owner is already sitting up in bed and listening for this scratching, piercing his ears like nails on a chalkboard.

 _Scri-scriiitch. Scri-scriiitch_.

Footsteps, adept at avoiding every creak in the floor, silently pad out of the bedroom closest to this staircase. The scratching pauses when they descend, but only briefly, before picking up again at a more frantic pace.

_Scritch-scritch-scritch-scritch!_

The owner reaches for the brass knob on this staircase's closet. Quietly, he pulls it open, settling into a crouch.

"Right on time, Barry."

* * *

Despite its bountiful gifts, there are elements of the Speedforce that should never be touched. Unfortunately, sometimes it's inevitable.

But Zoom had to be stopped. Barry didn't know what exactly it was he had done; what he cared about was that it gave him the strength to take the bastard down once and for all.

When he finally brings Zoom's corpse back to STAR Labs, Caitlin screams.

At first, Barry hurries to reassure her, "Don't worry! He's gone for good this time."

He looks to Cisco for support. Instead, he finds his friend has dropped his celebratory lollipop and is staring at him, as if he has forgotten how to speak.

"What's wrong?" Barry demands, "Are you guys okay?"

Cisco dry heaves. He sprints to the nearest bathroom; Barry can hear him vomiting.

Concern bubbling in his chest, Barry drops Zoom right there on the floor and zips to his side. "Cisco! I'm sorry if he looks a bit—bad, but I swear he's—"

Cisco shoves him out and locks the door.

That's when Barry's legs give out.

* * *

"Hey Len," Barry croaks, hand still raised to scratch.

Leonard Snart smirks. Yet it's softer than his usual biting look, almost—fond. "Hey yourself. Need a leg up?"

Barry scoffs, "That wasn't even good."

Len's smirk widens. Without replying, he lifts Barry from the closet and carries him to the kitchen.

"Mick tells me he had  _lots_ of fun," he drawls, setting his charge at the kitchen table. This chair in particular is special: Len pulls the leather straps around Barry's ankles and torso, leaning his head against the wall.

Barry grimaces. Tries to make it look like a smile. "Guess that's what matters at this point."

Len hums, opening the freezer. "So what'll it be, Barry?"

Barry closes his lids. Tears track down his face.

"Surprise me," he whispers.

* * *

This can't be his reflection.

Yet Barry feels his missing eye, the ache in his twisted neck, the shattered bones in his legs—none of which were healing.

Once they scrounge some sort of professionalism together, Caitlin and Cisco run tests. Barry hates the way they never actually  _look_ at him the entire time.

After a pregnant silence, broken only by the clinical sounds of machinery and IVs, the scientists reach a conclusion.

Barry fused his Speedforce with Zoom on every level imaginable.

What Zoom died with, Barry now has. The only way he's still alive is because the connection was severed before it could reach completion. Did enough damage in the meantime.

Choking on despair, Barry asks, "Can you fix me?"

Caitlin swallows. "We...we can try."

She doesn't sound confident. Barry's heart sinks.

Still, he tries to lighten the mood with a pained smile and a, "Well, how about a dinner break first? I'm starving."

* * *

Meat sizzles in the pan, filling Barry's senses. His mouth waters.

Len's become quite skilled at preparing these meals. Not once has he ever flinched or looked at Barry like everyone else outside of this house—but it's best not to dwell on those stares. Later, he will, but...right now, Len's here. Things are okay.

Once it's done, Len scoops the meat onto a plate. Next, he grabs a steak knife and fork. Then finally,  _finally_ , he returns to Barry and sets it all on the table.

Barry fidgets in his straps, reaching for the utensils. Len stops him.

"You know the rules," says Cold. He's already leaning in.

"Len," Barry pleads, "you know what'll happen—"

"Relax," Len murmurs, drawing out the 'a'.

He kisses Barry, bracing his hands on broken knees. The bones grind underneath his fingers, but he doesn't move. Barry sinks against him, sighing. He wishes he had better resolve.

Len smells so  _good_. Peppermint aftershave, fresh sheets, sweat, and the meat he cooked. Barry swipes his tongue across his mouth. And then—

Len grunts as Barry clamps on his bottom lip, breaking the skin with the ease of cutting through butter. In an instant, Barry recoils, blood staining his teeth.

"I'm so sorry," he babbles, "I-I didn't mean, I swear, I never—I wouldn't—"

Len just growls, "Shut up, Barry," and kisses him again.

* * *

Iris and Joe try. They really do.

Barry tries too. He rolls a bandage over his missing eye, gets a wheelchair, and smiles as much as he can.

He knows, though, that it's not enough. Just like he knows Caitlin and Cisco will never find a solution, because not even the Flash has every little secret of the Speedforce figured out; how can they be expected to find a solution to  _this_?

At first, he thinks that maybe if he triggers his healing factor, something will give. He swipes a knife from the kitchen and stabs his leg. The nerves are dead; he feels nothing.

Continues to feel nothing. There is no response. Just a bloody knife in a broken thigh.

Barry stabs another spot. Still nothing.

Again. No response.

Again, and again, and again. No, and no, and no.

Again, again, again, againagainagainagain—" _Barry_!"

Barry screams, covered with his own blood. Holding the knife with two hands now, he keeps driving the knife into his legs, to the point where his arms blur and blood flies to the carpet and on his chair.

Iris grabs his hands, tearing the blade from them. "Barry! Barry, it's me!" she shouts over his desperate cries, "It's Iris! Barry, look at me! Look at me!"

The whole ordeal leaves everyone exhausted. Barry's famished. He curls around his stomach and hides under the covers, like a child cowering from a monster. This time, though, that monster is his mirror.

It keeps happening, until Joe is forced to remove every sharp object from the house. He jokes about baby-proofing all over again; his worried,  _horrified_ eyes ruins the effect.

Captain Cold pulls a heist a week after that joke. Barry watches it on the news. Wishes the man would bust down his bedroom door and freeze him to death.

* * *

Barry devours the meat, Len pressing kisses all over his shoulder, neck, and bulging cheek. At two in the morning, he's just tired enough for open affection.

"I can't believe you still like me after..." Barry gestures to his empty plate.

Len tilts his chin, taking in the regrowing eye. "What can I say?" he smirks, "I like a man with meat on his bones."

Barry rapidly blinks as everything comes into better focus. It won't last long, but for now...he gives a small, genuine smile.

"Your puns are terrible."

"That's cold, Barry."

And Barry laughs. Pain spikes up his legs; he laughs harder.

"Off you go,  _Flash._ You have forty-eight minutes."

* * *

Funny enough, Captain Cold does actually infiltrate the West house. He doesn't knock the door down, though; he climbs through the window in the middle of the night, waking Barry as he draws the blinds and flicks on the lamp.

Barry quickly burrows under his sheets.

"Didn't peg you as the hiding type,  _Barry_ ," Cold says, keeping his voice quiet. "I stopped by STAR Labs and your little friends tell me you're on lock down. Color me curious." he scowls. "And  _bored_. What's this about then, hm?"

He tugs on Barry's blanket. Barry holds fast.

Cold's scowl deepens. "I already know what you look like, Barry. Chill out."

Barry shakes his head. Bones crack, and Cold stiffens in alarm.

"It's not that," Barry mumbles.

"For fuck's sake, kid."

The blanket's ripped away.

Barry's skin has taken on a blue tinge. His missing eye continues to drip blood, staining his bandage. His broken legs are bent in unnatural ways, bearing scars from his multiple stabbings; they don't heal at all anymore. And his neck, bruised, forces his head to tilt, unable to support his head the same way anymore.

Cold's eyes widen a few centimeters. Barry flinches, burying his face in his pillow.

"Barry...what the fuck happened?"

He doesn't leave until Barry tells him. And even then, he tilts his head and keeps standing there. Doesn't flinch, doesn't even look somewhere above Barry's face.

"And you killed Zoom?" he asks at length.

Startled, Barry blinks incredulously at him. "Uh. Yeah, I did."

"Then I don't see the problem. You may not be able to run around, but at least you have your life."

"I don't want it," Barry blurts.

"So I see," Cold replies, nodding to the leg scars. "Be that as it may, I'd say you did a good job, Barry. Zoom was a nuisance the world's better off without. Though I admit I'll feel the Flash's absence  _very_ keenly until he returns."

Barry pulls his legs against his chest. "There's no fixing me, Cold," he murmurs. "The Speedforce is too complicated and...there's just so many unknown factors. Maybe if Zoom was still alive, we could—reverse this somehow, but he's not, so..."

Cold raises an eyebrow. "Barry Allen, Central City's hope, giving up?" Barry cringes. "Didn't peg you as the type."

"Yeah, well. I'm obviously not the same Barry Allen."

A pause.

Abruptly, Cold smirks. "Hm. I suppose so. Be seeing you, Barry."

He leaves Barry cold. How fitting.

* * *

Barry runs all over Central City, to Star City and back, all the way to Coast and back. Everywhere and anywhere he can, laughing into the wind.

"Enjoying yourself?" Len asks over the comms. He always gives one to Barry before every run.

"Yeah!"

"Then you wouldn't mind stopping by Central City Bank? I'd like to enjoy myself as well." Barry grins. "Come on, Flash. You still have twenty-eight minutes."

* * *

It quickly becomes apparent that no matter what Barry eats, his hunger doesn't abate.

Part of him is glad. Death will be slow, but it'll come for him nonetheless. Better for everyone, he knows.

Then Cold visits him again, carrying a strange bag. The stench of it makes Barry's mouth water.

"Barry," he says, as if he's talking about the weather "did you know you're undead?"

* * *

After so long being what he is, Barry's past done with wearing a mask. He runs to Len's little heist in just his sweatpants and red t-shirt.

"Is it the zombie apocalypse already?" Cold calls across the room, hefting his gun on his shoulder.

Barry grins, striding towards him. "Don't worry, Cold—I just ate."

Len licks his bloody lip with a devious grin. "Shame."

Cold shoots at him; Barry dodges. They fight; they banter. At two thirty-two in the morning, they're having the time of their lives.

Reluctantly, Len calls a ceasefire when Barry has ten seconds left.

Barry sneaks a kiss before he's gone.

* * *

Zombie. Barry is a legitimate  _zombie_.

As far as he understands, human meat triggers the dead meat in his body to rejuvenate for a short period of time. The more he consumes, the closer to "human" he becomes. When it comes to killing, Mick Rory's only too happy to oblige, just as Cold's only too happy to deliver.

Cold times these "human moments." Turns out that for every small piece of meat, Barry can run for forty-eight minutes. If he consumes an entire person's worth, he can go for a whole day.

Barry tries to kill himself when he hears this. Cold—Len—stays his hand.

"You are what you are," he hisses, "and if you think I'm gonna let something like that ruin you, you've got another thing coming, Barry Allen."

Since Barry knows all too well that he can't stay with Joe and Iris any longer, Len drags him onto his bike.

"Why are you helping me?" he asks as Len revs up the engine.

"Don't ask stupid questions, kid," is the curt answer.

* * *

"You wanna sleep under the stairs?" Len asks, like it's the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard. "Last time I checked, you were undead, not a fucking wizard."

Barry rolls his eyes. "You don't have any bedrooms down here, and I like the small space anyway."

Len tilts his head. He clearly doesn't like the idea of his new—whatever they are, sleeping under his stairs. Nevertheless, what the zombie wants...

"Try not to turn into a walking cliché down here."

"Ha-ha, asshole."

* * *

The first two in the morning, Barry pushes himself up and opens the closet door by himself. Using his arms, he drags his body across the floor, legs rolling this way and that.

Unfortunately, he quickly comes across a glaring flaw in his plan for a late night snack: the freezer is really fucking high up.

Great. Not only is he a crawler, he's searching for human flesh in a freezer that's too high for him to reach.

The world tilts.

Fuck. How did he not think—he was just so  _hungry_ ; he didn't even—he wants to  _eat a person's flesh_.

Len wakes to gasping sobs and a loud clatter. He grabs his gun and hurries downstairs...only to find Barry stabbing his legs, whimpering and growling like a cornered animal.

The cold gun is set on the kitchen table. Len slides over to Barry, snatching the knife and tossing it somewhere behind him.

"You're hungry." There's no room for argument.

Barry's neck grumbles as he throws his head from side to side.

"Yes you are, Barry. And one day you're going to stop doing this to yourself. Come on."

He helps Barry to his chair. They've just installed the straps; they keep Barry from slipping.

Barry's so hungry, Len just heats the muscle in the microwave and gives it to him raw. There's not a single twitch in his composure the whole time.

Barry loves him. He really, really does.

* * *

And so, every night, at two in the morning:

_Scri-scriiitch. Scri-scriiitch._

Len smiles to himself and rises. At two in the morning, he loves Barry too.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
